Far Too Cold
by Ros3bud009
Summary: Their's had always been a cold war. However when tensions mount, it becomes anything but. Russia/America aka Ivan/Alfred.


It was far too cold there. Horridly so. Looking out every window, all he could see was white. White buildings, white walls, white trees, white earth -- the cold had engulfed them all into its tyrannical grip, sapping the heat from them until they seemed to become a part of the snow itself. They no longer had identities of their own. They were merely puppets of the frigidity, left to stand if only for appearances. Even as he looked, there stood a guard by the gate, covered in frozen tendrils of white. No one seemed to be safe from the chill, not even the people whom live amongst it. It was so invasive that it could turn enemies to stone, and stop wars cold in their tracks.

Footsteps resounded in the stale air, causing Alfred to turn his head. And there he was.

The very epitome of Russia's frigid soul.

"I see that Lithuania was not lying," Ivan said sweetly enough, even though it seemed to leave behind icicles in America's ears. "That is a very good thing for him. Though I had almost hoped to see his tears when he apologized to me for such a feat…"

Alfred couldn't help the shudder than raced down his spine. However, it was well-hidden within his thick leather jacket and determined stance. He stared the other country down.

Ivan didn't seem to mind though. He simply smiled back. "Now, do tell, what are you here for today? Did your boss send you?"

"No, I'm here on my own account," US stated casually, and he couldn't help the bitter smirk that spread across his face. "You really need to learn to hide things that you're sneaking to other countries. Especially when those things could blast away a third of me."

Russia's smile widened. "Ah, you must mean our welcome gifts to Cuba. Da, well, when countries reach out to me, how could I say no? And with such a _vicious_ neighbor, who could blame him for asking for help?" He strolled over to the window, looking out over the endless white. Alfred wondered for the briefest of moments if Ivan's touch would fog the window, or if he was so entrenched in the winter that it would make no change in its temperature. It wouldn't surprise him.

He shoved his hands into his pocket, puffed up his chest just the slightest and smirked at the other. "Funny you should mention helping people. I was just helping out some neighbors of yours with some maintenance. Wonder who _their_ viciousneighbors are."

Both the countries glared at the other, teeth bared in what would look to an outsider as friendly smiles but both knew better. Theirs was an animalistic battle, and every smirk was reminiscent of what they could do to the other if provoked. And as was prone to such relationships, with the weapons placed on the table, it was merely a matter of who reached for their weapon first. It would ultimately mean mutual destruction, but as they looked at each other, both were certain they would have no qualms taking down the rest of the world in their fight.

The silence was deafeningly cold. And yet Alfred could not help but feel his blood begin to boil.

"You do know that you don't belong there right? Cuba is ours, as is the rest of South America," Alfred stated, turning himself so that he leaned against the window frame and faced his foe. "They have been ours under the Monroe Doctrine for decades now. We promised to protect them under us while Europe was busy selfishly gobbling up the rest of the world. It is our divine right to keep them under our protection, and you Reds don't belong." Ivan could not help but tilt his head just the slightest in a mocking gesture.

"Protection? And here I was informed that he was used as your, how you call it? Oh, da." His smirk widened. "Whore."

"You don't know anything about--"

"The gambling resorts? The prostitution? Hotels and resorts and whole neighborhoods where Cuba was not allowed, despite it being his own land? And let us not forget that joke of a dictator you placed in their government to keep him in line. Batista, da? Cuba seemed awfully happy to be rid of your black-sheep of a 'pimp.'" Alfred's whole body began to shake, his hand clenched so tightly that, if not for the gloves he had brought and worn, he would be dripping red-hot blood on the icy ivory floor. Lost in a fiery rage, his smirk was all but gone, barely clinging to his dry lips.

The window nearly shattered under the force of Alfred's fist slamming against it. The effort needed wasn't great, and yet he couldn't help the sharp puffs of steam escaping at an ever quickening pace. Russia finally had the decency to look taken aback, his expression wavering slightly.

His voice was quiet. Almost indiscernible. Bitter. Chilling.

"We'll destroy you. All I have to do is say the word, and before you know it nuclear missiles will be raining down on Leningrad and Stalingrad and every other evil-sonuvabitch-grad you have."

Louder now. Heated.

"I will forever remove your disgusting ideology from my sight and bring your entire country to their knees, asking, no, _begging_, for me to spare their pathetic lives."

He is screaming now. His words are bubbling up from the boiling turmoil within him.

"With you gone I will take back what is rightfully mine and never have to see your ugly mug ever again, you sick fucking commie _bastard_!" Alfred was outright heaving now, his forehead breaking out in a sweat. His hand began to stain the window with blood as he pounded on it again. And yet, as Ivan stared at the shuddering mass of rage, he saw a smile reach all across America's face.

"I'll _destroy_ you."

The word hung in the hair, a puff of steam that even the frigid Russian air could not dissolve. Ivan looked simply awe-struck, unable to even comprehend what had happened. This was beyond their usual rivalry, and they both knew it. It had always been cold, like a chilling finger that crept into every meeting, every interaction, every handshake. Other nations could simply look on, finding refuge from the tension by hiding behind one side of the other. No one wanted to find themselves between the two.

It was cold. It was a threat.

This however was not. This was not threat, but an outright warning. They were both mere centimeters from the edge. Neither knew what lay there.

Ivan took a step towards the other.

"I do not think you will. I do not think you _can_," Russia stated simply. He took another step. "True, you could make the call, push the button, and fire your missiles. And da, it would destroy my western front. You could America, but you will not, because when you do, as missiles fly towards my people, I will be sure to send my own missiles towards your western front while Cuba disintegrates the entirety of your southeastern front." Ivan managed to bring his grin back to the surface, and was now close enough to touch the other nation. "When you had the upper hand with your bases in Turkey, it was not a fair fight. But now, you are at a greater risk. You do not want to feel equal to Russia. But you are now. You have no choice."

"You are _not _my equal. _I_ am the hero. I will _not _give in to scum like you," Alfred spat out. Ivan pretended to mull over this point.

"You know, Cuba doubted us a bit at first too. They did not believe that we could stand up to you if you discovered our missiles. Do you know what my boss said to them?" A dark grin split his face, and he almost seemed to cackle.

"He looks at the man and says to him, 'Don't worry. I'll grab Kennedy by the balls--'" Suddenly he reached out and had Alfred's own in a tight grasp, causing him to choke. Ivan's expression did not change from his sinister smirk as he bent down, whispering in the other's ear "'—and _make_ him negotiate.'"

US shuddered and let out a shaky breath. Attempts at escape failed however when, as he moved to push or shove and beat the other away, Ivan released him only to renew a grasp on his wrists, using all his strength to hold them up and against the window corner. None too gently he then shoved his knee between Alfred's legs, again regaining his control over the other's groin. Alfred struggled against him, shouting obscenities and threats between gnashing his teeth to keep from giving the Russian the pleasure of hearing him groan. Even with his larger size, Ivan had to use all his strength to keep the other contained, his arms strained to the point of shaking as his heart raced. It was frightening. It was thrilling.

(The window was now broken, blood stained, and fogged up until it was impossible to tell that it had ever been a window at all.)

Ivan's mouth found the other's, and forced itself upon it with enough force to bruise and batter. It retreated when teeth found its lips and pierced them, but was quickly on the rebound as it came back to return the deed. Alfred let out a pained breath and soon found his mouth penetrated as Ivan moved to conquer him.

The battle had begun.

Alfred kissed him back, pushing forward with his tongue and moving his way in to invade the other's hot cavern. They dueled, tangled, and occasionally unwittingly caressed the other. However, even when Alfred finally beat the other back and gained control, Ivan's knee rubbed against him harshly until he was almost screaming in exhilarating agony. It was back then, and with a vengeance as it tasted him deeply and unrelentingly. His head spun, and his heart threatened to explode as he gasped and choked for breath.

The tables turned then as America's wrists became slick with sweat and before Ivan could react, he had managed to pull one from its prison. He pushed his unprepared rival back with enough force that Ivan tripped and fell backwards onto the floor. In a flash Alfred was on top on him, capturing the other's wrists now and preceded to ravish the other's neck. Licking, sucking, and biting until he was certain the other would see the marks for weeks, and even then he continued, if just for the sputtering and desperate grunts Russia made under the attack. Finally, Ivan managed to get his feet on the floor and bucked the other off, rolling with him until he was now on top and returned the favor.

The cycle continued, with ever increasing fervor and intensity. Clothes were torn, pushed, and eventually before he knew it Alfred found his jacket and shirt undone and his bare chest under the ravishing touch of Ivan's hot mouth. Some small sliver of his mind found the intense heat from someone he had assumed ice-cold to be unsettling. But it did not matter as he moaned unwillingly, arching up into the heated oblivion and biting his already bleeding lips.

One last time Alfred gained control, sucking and biting at the other's lips while fondling his chest. Ivan threw back his head, releasing a guttural noise of frustrated arousal and muttering what was assumed to be Russian profanities through his teeth. He had won, Alfred was sure of it. Smiling against the other's pale skin, he murmured triumphantly, "Equals huh? Hardly. The US will always be better. We will always win." With a snicker he settled between the other's clothed legs and thrust himself against him, savoring the startled intake of breath followed by a string of unintelligible Russian. "_Always_."

The next few seconds were a blur to him as suddenly his body was in motion, and just as suddenly the motion stopped while his head continued its velocity. Stars appeared before him with the distinct sound of skull meeting glass ringing in his pounding ears. Then, a growl, a curse, and blood saturated saliva hitting the marble floors. Alfred was pulled up by his wrists and he felt the rough texture of wool against his skin, first around one wrist and then the other. When he vision finally started to clear and cognitive processes was coming back to life, he found his arms raised high above his head and secured there by Russia's scarf and the steel curtain rod above the window; in front of him stood the panting and red-faced man himself. He was not smiling his cruel smile, but the fire that burned in his eyes was far more frightening and exhilarating than it ever was. Alfred gulped and started to pull absently at the scarf tied tightly around his wrists.

Russia stepped closer, his hands cradling his face and caressing his collarbone. In that moment, America realized his situation.

"B-bastard! You cheating sonuvabitch, I swear I'll make you regret--"

"_Never_."

Momentary confusion quieted Alfred. He stared blankly at the other, and as those enraged eyes looked back he understood. He spat on the floor.

"_Always_."

Ivan grabbed a thick handful of the other's hair, pulling it back harshly as he swallowed the cries of pain that erupted from him. Control was absolute as he seemed to devour Alfred's mouth, twisting the bundle of hair each and every time the American moved his own tongue in an attempt to fight for control. It didn't stop Alfred though, who continued his useless battle and ignored the tears that started to well in his eyes with every painful yank. Frustration was brimming inside him as control was ripped from him; and yet every heated, moist and forceful caress of Ivan's tongue sent shivers down his spine. Never had he felt something so intense, so desperate, so frightening, and yet so… passionate.

He moaned against the intruder, and Ivan's free hand shuddered against his collarbone. He felt it too.

The kiss was finally abandoned and hands quickly found their way to the leather belt wrapped around Alfred's hips. He did not have time to protest as it was deftly undone, followed by button and fly. Seconds barely passed before his ankles were tangled in fabric while his very symbol of manliness stood bare, growing ever stronger despite the drop in temperature. Alfred prepared himself, gritting his teeth and expecting to feel the corrupting sensation of calloused fingers against it; but it didn't come. He eyed the other suspiciously as Ivan riffled through his coat pockets. Russian seemed to have become his preferred tongue as what Alfred considered nonsense words slipped from his bruised and bleeding lips, taking on a triumphant tone as he pulled out a small tin bottle.

"W-what the hell? What—H-hey!" Alfred cried as the bottle disappeared behind him and the chilling liquid washed down his lower back and between the toned ass cheeks there to glide by what was certainly a "vital region." His eyes grew wide and suddenly he was trashing against his constraints with renewed desperation. He cursed and shouted and lashed out, but Ivan ignored it all and he held the other tightly, dropping the bottle with a loud clang and slowly penetrating the other with a slick finger that reeked of alcohol. Alfred's pitch grew higher and more urgent. He hissed and swallowed pained cries as he was invaded; his whole body shuddered and shook. Russian was whispered into his ears, and he simply couldn't tell if it was supposed to be calming or taunting. Whichever it was, it sent his blood pumping faster and drops of sweat rolled down his chest as he leaned his head back and cried out, impaled by a greater mass than before. Quickly numbers and fingers were irreverent; there was something inside him, conquering him, hurting him.

Bringing him ever closer to release.

The Russian words became more commanding in tone. Alfred turned his head to face the other, his breath hitching as they made eye contact. He swallowed. "The hell, you dumbass. Speak goddamn English! I don't understand that gibberish you call a language!"

Ivan grabbed his chin roughly, glaring at him darkly and no longer even attempting to fake a smile. "Just because you are ignorant of our language does not mean yours is superior. Your English is simply the hideous bastard child of many beautiful languages before it. It is a disgrace to true tongues."

"Bullshit! You're just full of it, you fuckin'--"

"Grab onto the bar," Russia ordered. When his words didn't seem to be comprehended by the American, he repeated his command. "The bar above you. Grab onto it."

"Why should I?" Alfred replied bitterly, resistant to any order given to him. Ivan sneered at him and twisted his digits aggressively inside the other. As the captive nation gasped and sputtered, he gave his simple explanation.

"Because if you do not, while I am fucking you the scarf will tighten around your wrists under the weight of your body and cut off their circulation. I do not think you wish to lose your hands." The warning was cold and uncaring, and yet America could not help the moan that escaped him at the words. He could have continued to argue, continued to yell at the older nation until his throat was raw. But now was not that time; he wanted a physical battle. Words were not enough for his high-strung nerves or the fire raging inside him. As the fingers were removed from inside him, he took a deep breath and grabbed onto the bar. Alfred glowered at the other and with a flex of his arm muscles muttered, "If you want to be my equal so badly, than show me. I'd like to see you try."

Ivan's speed amazed him as suddenly his feet no longer touched the ground and he found his hips cradled in strong hands, legs unconsciously wrapped around the Russian's waist. His muscles strained as he held himself up, and lips were at his own as the impassioned exchange raced back to life. Alfred managed to hold his own against the other now that Russia's hands were occupied, and their mouths meshed into a heated battle of desperate heat. It was amazing how hands that were once icy to the touch now seared against his bare skin.

(They had become a wild fire in the middle of the white kingdom of cold – or that's what he would say if he were poetic or pretended to be such. No, all he could think was that it was a heat unlike anything he had experienced before.)

Alfred could not help the half-scream that ripped out of his chest as he was penetrated, filled, over-filled, on fire. His blond hair shook from side to side as he gasped and heaved, willing himself to not give in, to not cry. Ivan continued to savor the skin on his shoulder, his collarbone, and buried his face into the other's neck. America trembled, but held his grip and didn't shout when the Russian's strong hands moved him again.

There was no slowness. There was no kindness. Ivan thrust up into the other man, grunting and growling against the moist skin of his shoulder. Every hit stung, burned its way through Alfred, but he still held strong and soon moved back against the invader, taking him in deeper. Pleasure and pain mixed and fused, boiled together in the hot caldron that lay low in his abdomen. The American panted and moaned between hisses of pain and cries of frustration. He wished dreadfully that his hands weren't bound above his head; with every thrust he wanted to either pull the other to his mouth and tangle his fingers in that mess of hair or wrap them around his pale neck and squeeze until he never had to see that terrible smile again.

And then that hellish mouth was on his skin, licking, biting, marking. Alfred bucked his hips harshly and held the other inside with all his strength. Ivan gave a startled moan and grasped the American's hips tighter. His nails bruised and penetrated the skin there, and Alfred's pained response was interrupted by a stronger urge to cry out.

It was sickening, but oh so satisfying.

Russia gave a surprisingly loud and high pitched gasp; it was burning hot against America's skin. His hands wrapped around Alfred's back and held his tightly as he shuddered, moaned, and filled the other with seemingly boiling heat. Its intensity threw Alfred over the edge as he tossed his head from side to side before it finally settled behind him, his whole body strung tighter than a bow.

There was breathing; heavy breathing. They both panted, their chests rising and falling at unsynchronized rates, so every few breaths the two would meet. Alfred's throat was raw and he almost wondered if it was bleeding like most every other part of his body was; nonetheless he merely unwrapped his legs and Ivan understood, releasing his hold on the man's hips and unraveling the scarf from his hands. And there the two stood, Alfred leaning against the window and massaging his wrists while Ivan placed his hand on the window and rested his head on the cool glass beside the American's head.

(For the briefest of moments America wanted to look over to see if his hand would indeed fog the window, but decided the window had already fogged over anyway, so there would be no way to tell.)

The heat was evaporating. Even through his thick jacket, Alfred could already feel the cold starting to seep into his back through the window. This heat, this outrage, this release of pure energy was dissolving and it scared him more than the onset of those things had. Perhaps Ivan had felt the same as the man lifted his head and looked at him. It was awkward for that moment, and the thread of passion was thinning to the point of snapping. Alfred wanted to reach out to it, to keep it stable, and found his hand on the Russian's cheek. He couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

"I won."

Ivan smiled back, asking with mock curiosity, "Oh? How so? Because it would seem to me that I am winner here."

"Yeah, well, you may have fucked me up the ass," he admitted, his hand now absentmindedly moving to mingle in the Russian's silver hair, "but you also came first. Everyone knows that the one who comes first loses."

Ivan was a bit taken aback by this, commenting, "You Americans have odd rules."

"Yeah, well you Russians use weird lube."

It was about then that Alfred noticed his hand as well as the one that the older nation had resting on his hip. They stared at one another, and America was certain that the cold was wiggling into his skin. There was a momentary panic.

Their lips came together softly, with no real rhyme or reason to their motions. It was like magnets, with two opposites coming together under no real control of their own. Alfred was now acutely aware of how much his mouth ached from abuse, became aware of his bodily pains and tiredness. But he couldn't go back; this intensity was hot and painful and satisfying. Here he took action; he was longingly caressing a metallic tasting mouth with his own, touching and feeling the other. There was simply no stopping it though. Even with the sharing of heat, the chill had moved into his muscles. He tugged at the other's hair, felt him desperately kiss back, and still it leaked past the ribs and approached his heart.

It was gone. The fire was engulfed again, and their war became a stand still.

Alfred pulled away and his fist was flying, hitting the Russian square in the side of his face. Ivan stumbled back, smirking at him with no real amusement.

"Don't you think this is over yet, commie," America said as he reached down to pull on his pants. He thought for a moment when he discovered the mess there, but decided that cleanliness would have to wait until later. The older nation grinned while busily fixing himself.

"Did you enjoy it that much? I had thought you did not want to consider Russia your equal, let alone your superior--"

"Shut up!" Alfred shouted back, immediately regretting the action as his throat seemed to rip in two. He resisted the urge to cough and sputter, and instead finished clothing himself. "Don't think that we're going to give in so easy just because you took advantage of Cuba. We will make you leave, and on _our _conditions."

"Negotiate is the word I think you are looking for," Ivan noted with a chuckle. "We will be certain to negotiate with you, and this time on equal terms."

Alfred glowered and wanted to argue the point, but he was now frozen to the bone and his body was aching from head to toe. Ultimately he scrunched his face up in frustration and spun around, stalking down the hall with a noticeable limp. Thankfully for his sake Russia did not make mention of this fact.

The door slamming resounded in the long hallway, and with an almost sad sigh Ivan shook his head and decided to inspect the damage done to the window. As he did, the door at the other side of the hall creaked open and Lithuania peeked inside, gulping. Russia turned to look at him and smiled, motioning for him to come towards him. He did so with little resistance but great hesitance.

"You will have to call for a new window to replace this one," Ivan stated, idly touching the point of impact with his re-gloved fingers. The smaller nation looked on, shocked .

"B-but… What happened?"

Ivan smiled softly as he saw the American stumbling out into the snow, looking like he was cursing as he kicked the snow and hurried to his car.

"A war," he answered, but he was only vaguely aware of the other's presence. "You missed a truly vicious war."

He had not really noticed before, as he had always known the winter as well as he had known himself, but at that moment Ivan could not help but note that it was far too cold.

Author notes (aka history notes)

1. This is placed during the Cold War (obviously) but specifically during the Cuban Missile Crisis. If you're curious, feel free to wiki it, but it is basically the jist of what you get here. Cuba wants to be friends with Russia, Russia gives them missiles, US doesn't like the missiles in Cuba, Russia and US negotiate.

2. The US had missile bases in Turkey which Russia didn't like. I don't know much more than how those missiles were a part of the Cuban Missile Crisis though, so I can't give more info than that.

3. The quote that Ivan gives is one that, according to Cuban accounts is what Khrushchev said to Raul Castro when he was asked about what would happen if the US found out about the missiles. Evidently Khrushchev was full of testicle quotes.


End file.
